


Return to that prior state

by SmeagolMyNeagol



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Pretentious, Pretentious Garbage, Weird, Writing practice, cerebral, talk of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmeagolMyNeagol/pseuds/SmeagolMyNeagol
Summary: This is nothing. I feel a certain way and i needed to write this to say how I feel. It didn’t help me.





	Return to that prior state

“I think that sometimes we get to thinking that the state of living is perpetual. That we should always be like this, alive.” His voice was somber, eyes downcast. 

 

“But to be alive is to be abnormal. Most souls never leave the void of nonexistence, and most people who have been alive are, at this moment, dead.” Marco could see the tears in his eyes, though he tried to hide it. He could hear the break on his voice as he continued his soliloquy. 

 

“So that’s why I’m not afraid to die. I’m not afraid to rejoin that state, whether it be a state of death or of nonexistence, it will be more normal than the current state we all seem to perceive as such.” The tears were coming in full force now, as Nicholas looked up into the dark sky, face illuminated by the moonlight reflecting off the snowy tendrils that surrounded them, and Marco saw them, these tiny little drops of saline, dripping down his face like the most ridiculously cheap and blatant prayer. 

 

It wasn’t like he knew what Nicholas was talking about—he didn’t—not really. To live seemed the only thing to do, because to die was to be absent of doing. How could one ‘do’ being dead? How could that be normal? 

 

“I should like to think that there’s something after.” He whispered, barely audible in the quiet of the snowy clearing. 

 

“I should like to think... that something else will happen after we die. There won’t just be nothing—nonexistence—there will be something more. Has to be.” He tried to sound resolute, but more and more he was discovering he had no idea if anything he ever said was spoken with any authority at all. 

 

“I—I should like to think so too, Marco. But... I don’t. Think so. I would just like to.” He had fallen to his knees, a sort of manic desperation about him as he stared up at the sky, pupils dilated but eyes somehow unseeing. 

 

Marco hadn’t known the man was capable of such tumultuous words. He certainly didn’t appear weighed down by these kinds of thoughts—thoughts about death and returning to some ill-defined void. He seemed a great deal intelligent and logical, the latter to a fault even. 

 

But as Marco stood in the clearing, the silence of the night stifling everything but his racing thoughts, the holy quiet as thick as the blankets of snow that lay upon the ground and trees—as Marco looked as this desperate man, he understood that Nicholas was anything but logical in this moment, weighed down by thoughts too big for his head and too violent for his emotional threshold. 

 

This was a desolate man. A hopeless man. A man who couldn’t find meaning in life so much so that he barely found meaning in death. 

 


End file.
